As Hampton Court shifts from flower to lifestyle show, garden ideas shrink as shopping grows

A browse back through the photos from past outings to the Hampton Court Flower Show tells the tale.  It's always been a shoppers paradise.  Every year, I go with my friends Philippa and Alex, and every year we wonder how the hell we're going to get home by the end of it.  (Pictured is Alex, wedged in the back of my convertible with a few of this season's prizes.)  And while plants have always been the backbone of our sprees, each year the other stuff seems to grow.

This year, a food and cooking pavilion in the middle of the grounds, where the Daily Mail-sponsored show gardens used to be, seemed to indicate a tipping of the balance towards a broader lifestyle show with gardening roots than the strictly horticultural outing of years past.  The arts and crafts tent seemed more crowded than ever and I'd guess more than half the vendors' booths were decorative geegaws, clothing, garden furniture or tools rather than plants.  There was even one stand hawking cars.  Granted, they were electric cars and the company was sponsoring a garden to play on the whole green agenda, but still...

Don't get me wrong.  I had a blast.  The food tent was a brilliant addition.   Themed around grow-your-own vegetables, it offered both plants and foodstuffs to take home, with a theatre to one side where chefs demonstrated recipes drawn from the garden's bounty.  I came home with a head of fresh giant garlic, almost impossible to find in grocery stores, and a subscription to Riverford Organics' weekly fruit and veg delivery.

But in this year where I went to Hampton Court with studious intent and a completely blank plan for the current mud patch that's soon to be my garden, actual gardening ideas were thin on the ground.  The only thing I actually photographed with a speculative eye was the bottle design feature in the Badger Beer garden.  Empty beer bottles, turned upside down, balanced on bamboo rods and massed together in undulating waves.  It would have sparkled nicely in the sun, had there been any, and we could whip that up in our own garden with empty wine bottles after just a few months.  (Or after the house warming party.)

There seemed to be fewer show gardens, and those were less memorable than in past years.  The modern, conceptual gardens bit seems to be getting bigger every year.  Dominated by plexiglass cubes, long tunnels and modern art installations, this bit always leaves me cold.  This year there was a large, unadorned square of concrete paving blocks.  Huh?  The only thing worth a lengthy pause here was one of those plexiglass cubes, filled with butterflies and their attracting plants.

Of the more traditional displays, a Hawaiian garden with tropical plants and a black tufa water feature entranced me, more for the memories it evoked of the islands than for practical planting ideas.  The urban gardens section was interesting, with glimpses of agrarian bliss through holes in grim, graffitied walls.  A tropical garden planted inside a building covered with artificial grass (sponsored by the grass maker, of course), viewable only through thin windows, was memorable if not beautiful.  Lots of pleasant things to look at, but my notebook remained closed in my handbag.  Across all the gardens, only a small one with a particularly good use of box hedging to divide a limited space into distinct garden rooms had me pausing thoughtfully.

That doesn't diminish the fun.  The main floral marquee was as magnificent as ever and, though I wasn't buying plants this year, it had my brain fizzing with plans for next.  The north facing exterior wall of the house, which I'm fairly sure will never be in direct sunlight, is crying out for a hosta garden.  I lingered over specialty suppliers' displays, appreciating the diversity of plants and wondering how many varieties I could get into a 9x3 bed.  And could I work in that little stream, as well?  I couldn't resist ALL the plants, however.  I am now the proud owner of a fig tree, something I've been fantasising about since I sat under the figs in my uncle's garden as a child and ate the warm, treacle-like fruit right off the branches.

The biggest flights of fantasy, however, came on two stands without plants.  First, magnificent bronze sculptures of trees, wired as fountains so that water flows from the top, dripping down leaves until it falls like tinkling rain into the pool below.  My imagination was designing a whole water garden around it.  And then there were the luxury chicken coups.  I adored the miniature gypsy caravan, but even in my fantastical early thoughts know there's not enough room for that.  However, it turns out that charming little fenced options can house four bantams happily.  And would fit easily behind the garage.  Fresh eggs and a nod to country living.  But could Datchet the bird-obsessed spaniel share a back garden with four hens?

I suspect our eggs will continue to come from the shop.